


Finding Her Voice

by JOBrien42



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27924367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JOBrien42/pseuds/JOBrien42
Summary: Donna Moss finds it harder to dodge questions about Gaza as the spokesperson for the Bob Russell campaign.  Could giving access to the press for Josh and Donna to confront feelings buried the year prior?
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Comments: 151
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

Josh came into the small dining area of the Day’s Inn in Eugene, bleary eyed and somewhat disheveled. He gave half a glance at the bagels before grabbing a donut and his second coffee of the day and joining Congressman Santos, Ronna and Ned at the small table.

He mumbled something that may have ended with “morning” and opened the copy of the USA Today that had been left at his door.

He half-heartedly chewed his breakfast when an achingly familiar sight appeared on one of the televisions in the room.

_“The Vice President will be arriving in Omaha at 11:30 a.m. local time. He’s scheduled to eat lunch with several supporters at Leadbelly at noon, before a meet and greet at Omaha VA Medical Center at two. He’ll be returning to Washington on Air Force Two following that for a meeting with the Council of Economic Advisers at 6 p.m.”_

“Hah!” he scoffed. “I wonder what strings Will Bailey had to pull to get Bingo Bob into that meeting. Maybe they’ll put him at the kiddie table.”

“It’d be nice to have the convenience of having a Boeing C-32 at our beck and call, though,” said Santos, somewhat wistfully.

“The campaign has got to pay for the use, though, right?” asked Ronna.

“Lucky for him he’s got all those ‘Boulders’” Santos affirmed.

***

“Ms. Moss, Ms. Moss!”  
“Donna!”  
“Miss Moss!”

“Yes,” Donna said, looking over at the crowd of reporters. She nodded towards a woman from _The Post_. “Karen.”

“Does the Vice President have any comment on the incident in Jerusalem today?”

Donna looked down at her notes, more to give her a chance to control her breathing. There’d been a scuffle between Israeli and Palestinian youth that had escalated into a brawl, and the American peacekeepers had intervened. Five of the teenagers had been hospitalized, and one soldier had received minor injuries from a rock thrown at his face.

“Vice President Russell is grateful that our brave servicemen were able to resolve the incident quickly and without serious injuries or fatalities.” She spoke clearly and evenly, and then turned to call on another reporter.

Karen pushed through with a follow-up. “Has he received any intelligence suggesting that the brawl was related to the roadside bombing a year ago?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, her blood running cold.

“The bombing of the Congressional Delegation. The anniversary is coming up next week...”

***

“It’s hard to think it’s been nearly a year since we lost Dan and Tom,” Santos said as he watched alongside his campaign manager, soberly.

Josh was standing, staring at the television, not listening to him. “Don’t take the bait,” he whispered. “Change the subject.”

***

“I don’t have any information linking this to the bombing. As far as we know this was an isolated incident,” Donna deflected as smoothly as possible. She looked over at a reporter from CBS she knew wanted to talk about the election. “Cassie?”

“The Santos campaign has been nipping at Russell’s heels since winning California. Does the Vice President have any plan to staunch the bleeding?”

“I don’t know that I agree with that characterization. While the Congressman did well in California, I will remind you that Bob Russell won in New York, Massachusetts, Maryland, Ohio, Rhode Island, Vermont, and Connecticut that same day.”

“And since then, Santos has picked up Florida, Texas, Illinois, Florida and Pennsylvania,” the reporter pointed out. “Is Will Bailey’s job in jeopardy?”

“Will has the full faith and confidence of the Vice President,” she said. “And Vice President Russell still has the most delegates of any Democratic candidate in this race, and our internal numbers indicate that won’t change by the convention. David?”

“It’s virtually impossible at this point for Russell or Santos to capture the 2162 delegates needed to secure the nomination at this point. Is Mr. Bailey or Mr. Russell concerned about having to face ‘Bartlet’s Bulldog’, Josh Lyman in a contested convention?”

“Joshua Lyman has faced the same number of contested conventions as Will Bailey has,” she said, again forcing a sense of assurance into her voice. “We’re confident that on the second ballot, the delegates will choose the experience and stability of the man that President Bartlet chose to be his Vice President.”

***

“I’m surprised she was able to say that last part with a straight face,” Josh said, but he was relieved that she’d moved the conversation away from Gaza.

“Are you worried about a contested convention?” Ronna asked.

Josh’s eyes remained focused on the screen. “Two months ago we were down to our last dime and the Congressman was about to mortgage his home to stay in the race. No, I’m not worried about a contested convention. I’m looking forward to kicking Will Bailey’s…”

His voice trailed off.

***

“Ms. Moss, circling back to the earlier question on the riot in Jerusalem…”

“I don’t have any further information from when we talked about that a few minutes ago, Mister…”

“Alan Wiseman, _Daily Telegraph_ ,” the man said, “and I have a source saying that the Vice President was unhappy with the peace talks last year. Do you have any comment?”

“The Vice President has been steadfast in his support of President Bartlet’s efforts to seek a peaceful resolution between Palestinians and Israelis…”

“I’m sure that’s the company line Ms. Moss, but I have a transcript from the Israel Policy Forum Gala from last Summer that suggests differently.”

Donna frowned, just a flicker of one, before responding. “I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

“The next President of the United States, the position your candidate is vying for, is going to inherit those peacekeepers Bartlet arranged. Don’t you agree that the American public has the right to know if Bob Russell agrees they should be there?”

“I haven’t spoken with Vice President Russell about his feelings on the matter,” she said, “but as I said I will be sure to get back to you…”

“Yes, that’s right. You wouldn’t know about it since you were recovering injuries incurred during that very bombing.”

***

“This is an ambush,” Josh whispered to himself. “C’mon, Donna, end it. You don’t have to do this.”

***

“I’m sorry, Alan, but I really have no comment. I don’t see how my personal experience is relevant right now. Now if you have any questions about the Vice President or the campaign, I’ll be happy to answer…”

Wiseman kept talking. “Ms. Moss, are you saying you don’t find your experiences relevant?”

“Yes, Alan, that’s what I’m saying. I was just a low level White House secretary who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So it was just a coincidence?”

“Yes,” Donna stated firmly.

“Isn’t it true, Ms. Moss, that your immediate supervisor at the time of the Gaza bombing was then Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman?”

“Yes, but…”

“The same Joshua Lyman who helped negotiate the Camp David accords that placed American servicemen in harm’s way in Israel?”

“I don’t see how this…”

“And the same Joshua Lyman who is running your opponent’s campaign?”

***

There was a flicker, and the press conference was replaced by a brightly colored animated bear singing a happy tune.

Josh spun around, a curse on his lips, when he saw a young family had come in seeking their breakfast. The father was helping a young girl make waffles, while a woman looked apologetic as she held her squirming toddler.

He managed to swallow the expletive as he gave the woman a sheepish look, snapping back into the public persona he’d honed over the years. It was clear to those at the table that there was a cost to throwing up the facade as he slumped back down into his seat.

“You okay there, Josh?” Santos asked.

“I’m fine,” Josh replied curtly. “We’re going to need an answer on the incident in Jerusalem, and be ready to clarify your stance on the U.S. troops there. Are there any damaging quotes out there I need to know about?”

“It was a tense situation,” Santos said. “We’d just lost two of our own. I remember being frustrated with the President’s apparent timidity. You remember how it was.”

“I, uh,” Josh said, “I had other things on my mind at the time. I do remember hearing about it from Toby.”

The Congressman looked intently at his campaign manager, understanding dawning. “Right.”

Bram came striding in. “Good morning, Santos campaign! Are you ready for a nice vegan breakfast at the Morning Glory Café?”

“That’s why I’m enjoying the bacon here,” Ned said, shoving another slice into his mouth.

Josh looked down at the remains of his donut, and tossed a napkin over it. He found his appetite had deserted him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's fallout from Donna's press conference. Matt Santos thinks his campaign director should step up, while Will Bailey may have other plans.

The Santos team gathered their belongings and made their way to the bus. Bram explained the plans for the day - breakfast there in Eugene, lunch in Salem, and then a late dinner in Portland, with a full schedule in the state’s most populous city tomorrow.

As they boarded, Bram continued his chatter. “Did you see that the new spokesperson for Russell - the pretty blonde - got roughed up in their presser on C-SPAN this morning?”

Josh grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around. “Did you see the whole thing? What happened at the end?”

“Oh, hey, yeah, he was asking her about you. I didn’t know she worked for you at the White House. Too bad you couldn’t have brought her with you; she’s great on television. Well, usually.”

“Bram,” Josh said slowly, through gritted teeth, “what happened after that reporter asked her about me?”

“Not much,” the man said, thinking. “Just something like, if the reporter had questions about Josh Lyman he should ask the Santos campaign, and then she ended the press conference, saying she had to get to Andrews to fly out to Nebraska with Russell.”

Josh nodded, grimly. “Thanks.”

Santos, who was watching this exchange from further up the aisle, called to his campaign manager. “Hey Josh, can you meet me in back? I’d like to go over the schedule.”

“Sure, Congressman,” Josh said, woodenly, as he moved awkwardly around Bram to follow his candidate.

“Have a seat,” Santos indicated when they got to the rear of the bus. The remaining staffers had all boarded and found seats towards the front, giving the pair a little bubble in which to strategize.

Josh remained standing. “What part of the schedule is concerning you, sir?”

“I didn’t ask you back here to talk about the schedule,” the Congressman said. “I did, however, ask you to sit down. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

“I’m fine, sir,” Josh said, but he did flop gracelessly into the chair across the aisle from him.

“In fact,” Santos continued, “you look like you were the one the reporter was grilling, and not the chicken fighter.”

“Congressman, I’m not sure if there’s a point you’re trying to make, but I think we should go over the remarks for the break-.”

“Josh,” Santos said, “I’m prepped for the Morning Glory stop. We’ve got a few minutes here, and I couldn’t help but notice…”

“I assure you that whatever you thought you may have noticed,” Josh said, “isn’t important to the campaign.”

“C’mon Josh. I’m sorry I didn’t put it together earlier. Donna was the lone survivor of the Gaza bombing that killed Dan DeSantos, Tom Korb, James Holtman and Admiral Fitzwallace. And you mentioned you weren’t around for the in-fighting in the aftermath.”

“It doesn’t matter, Congressman,” Josh said.

“The White House Deputy Chief of Staff and top arm-twister went missing during an international crisis. It didn’t go unnoticed, not at the time. But then the summit came along and it made us all forget that you weren’t there spear-heading President Bartlet’s agenda.”

Josh remained stony-faced. “Are you accusing me of something, Congressman?”

“I don’t have much truck with the rumor mill,” Santos said, keeping his voice low. “But even I heard stories about Josh Lyman and his assistant. I didn’t think they were true then, and having gotten to know you better in these past few months, and having talked to her, I’m sure you wouldn’t be the sort to do anything improper.”

“No,” Josh replied evenly. “I wouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean…” Santos started. He looked pensive for a moment, before letting out a small chuckle. “You know, Helen doesn’t believe you feel anything outside of a relentless drive to win. But you’re no robot, Josh, much as you’re trying to be.”

“Is there any way for me to escape this conversation, Congressman?”

“Sure,” Santos said. “Just answer me one question, truthfully, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“What?”

“Does _she_ know how much you still care?”

***

“I just wanted to apologize,” Donna began as she climbed the stairs to Air Force 2 with Will. “I should have had a better answer this morning.”

“There’s really no need for apologies,” Will replied. “The guy had it out for you. You did the best you could, and you got out of there before it went too far.”

“I let myself become the story,” she said. “I know we don’t do that.”

“Actually, there may be a way to capitalize on this,” Will said, “particularly with the anniversary coming up.”

Donna looked at him.

“I was talking to the Vice President this morning during your press conference, and we thought of using Memorial Day to start a new line of attack on Matt Santos,” Will explained. “We’re going to have to address those remarks from the Israel Policy Forum Gala anyway.”

“He did serve with Congressmen Kolb and Desantos,” she noted. “It’s understandable that he would want justice for their loss.”

“That was our thought as well,” Will said. “And then we realized that we had an ace in the hole.”

“And what’s that?”

Will looked at her, his eyes serious. “You.”

***

Josh found himself reeling from the Congressman’s words, but recovered quickly. “Believe me when I tell you that Donna could care less what I may or may not feel.”

Santos looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and frustration. “I don’t believe that.”

“Regardless.”

“You should call her,” Santos said.

“What?” Josh exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“Call her,” the Congressman repeated. “She had a rough morning. She could use a friendly voice.”

“I don’t think she’d say that applies to me,” Josh insisted.

“And I think you’re wrong about that.”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment before they were interrupted by Ronna, holding a cell phone.

“I’m sorry Congressman, but Mrs. Santos was hoping to talk to you.”

“Of course. Thank you, Ronna.” As he took the phone, he turned back to Josh, and whispered “Call her.”

Josh looked on, absent-mindedly gripping his own phone, as Santos turned his attention to his wife with a cheerful “Hi honey!”

***

“Me?” Donna asked. “Why would I be an ace in the hole?”

“Because you were there,” Will explained. “You're the link to the tragedy, and you’ve chosen to not only support, but work for the Vice President.”

Donna shook her head slightly. “That’s not why - I needed a job, after leaving - after leaving the White House. And I’ll forever be grateful to you and the Vice President for the opportunities you’ve given me, but I’d be lying if I said I was working for Russell because he wanted to bomb the Gaza strip after … after what happened.”

“You won’t have to,” Will said. “We’ll pivot away from anything like that, talk up our support for the troops. I’ve got some talking points about the VA and a new G.I. Bill that I’ll get to you. All we need to do is make sure that the press makes the link that you picked Bob Russell over Josh Lyman, and by extension, Matt Santos.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sometimes wonder just how much Santos and Donna talk during "A Good Day".


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna faces the press again, and the Santos campaign decides how to respond.

“... and Vice President Russell will make sure that the sacrifices of our brave men and women returning from deployment are honored, and that we provide them the highest standard of care during and after their service.”

Donna finished the prepared statement smoothly, and mentally readied herself for what came next. Will said he was going to seed the press with some follow up questions for the section touching on the President’s response to last year’s tragedy, and she had to shove down her unease with the tactic. She repeated to herself that she didn’t have to lie, didn’t have to betray Josh with her words. She just had to let the press infer that from her non-answers.

She took a breath, and called on Jeremy, one of Will’s plants.

“Donna, you were the lone survivor of the Gaza bombing. You didn’t give interviews a year ago - does today’s statement mean you’re willing to discuss it now?”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Jeremy,” she said, “but this isn’t, and shouldn’t be, about me. This is and should be about which candidate has the experience to lead our nation’s troops, as well as who also reflects the values of the average citizen of this country.”

“And as someone who worked in the White House, you believe that man is Bob Russell.”

Knowing the question was coming, she chose her words deliberately. “As the Vice President has said, Matt Santos is a good man and a patriot, but he’s been a Congressman for fewer than three full terms. That’s the simple truth. Vice President Russell has been in the situation room during a crisis, And I believe that is something the voters should consider when they cast their ballot.”

“Ms. Moss!”  
“Donna!”  
“Miss Moss!”

Donna surveyed the field of reporters. “Yes, Chloe?”

“Can you talk about what led you to leave the White House to come work for Bob Russell?”

“Again, I don’t think I should be the story here,” Donna said, “but I will say this. It was an honor and a privilege to work in that building, one for which I will forever be grateful. But as our campaign manager says, someone has to think of the ninth year. I wanted to be part of keeping the White House in Democratic hands, and preserving the legacy of President Bartlet.”

“Is that the reason you chose the Vice President instead of following Josh Lyman to work with Matt Santos?”

That hadn’t been an agreed on question, but she took it in stride. “I’d taken my position with Vice President Russell before Mr. Lyman signed on with the Congressman, but I believe whole-heartedly that I made the best decision for me.”

“Did you lose faith in Lyman when he was missing in action in the week after the bombing? That during an international crisis, when the President needed him, his Deputy Chief of Staff was nowhere to be found?”

“No!” The response came out a little more forceful than intended. She steadied herself. “It is my understanding that Mr. Lyman’s absence was authorized by the Chief of Staff Leo McGarry, and sanctioned by the President.”

Chloe followed up. “Do you know where Mr. Lyman was during that time?”

“You’ll have to ask him that,” she said.

“So is there any truth to the report that you left Josh Lyman after a failed romantic relationship?”

It was Alan Wiseman of the _Telegraph_ again.

She blinked in surprise. “No. That’s not true.”

“So do you deny that when Josh Lyman abandoned his post during those critical days, he had, in fact, flown to Germany to be by your bedside?”

Donna hesitated, her mind racing. A disjointed memory, Josh saying that stealth wasn’t his strong suit, her own response that he was “very clumsy”. Of course someone realized that Josh had come to Germany. Of course a person of ill will would be able to uncover it.

“I’m not going to comment on that,” she said, after a brief moment. “Now does anyone have any questions about the Memorial Day schedule?”

“Are you denying that Josh Lyman broke your heart, leading you to go to Bob Russell to get back at him?”

Donna stared the reporter down. “I’m not going to comment on ridiculous and irrelevant aspersions. Thank you, all. I’ll be briefing tomorrow before we leave for Kentucky, and I’d like to remind you this is a campaign for the Presidency of the United States, so hopefully we can all learn to leave the tabloid questions at home.”

***

“Josh, you may need to look at this,” Bram said, carrying a videotape into the war room they’d set up in the Radisson conference center. He slid the cassette into the VCR/DVD combo above the television and grabbed the remote.

The screen flickered and resolved to an image of Donna standing in front of the Omaha VA Medical Center, surrounded by reporters. It had been cued up ahead of time, and Josh could hear a reporter from off screen.

“Did you lose faith in Lyman when he was missing in action in the week after the bombing? That during an international crisis, when the President needed him, his Deputy Chief of Staff was nowhere to be found?”

Josh grimaced as he watched the rest of the footage.

“We’re already getting calls,” Bram said. “We’re gonna have to make a statement tomorrow.”

“We say nothing,” Josh said, still staring at the now darkened screen. “I’m not the story here.”

“I think Bram has a point, Josh,” Santos said, looking up from the telephone. “They’re not going to give up until they get an answer.”

“They’ll get bored,” Josh insisted. “We say that questions about my performance as Deputy Chief of Staff should be directed to the White House, who will say that I served with distinction and that my… absence… at the time was excused. We’ll let Toby do the heavy lifting on this.”

“You had some friction with Toby Ziegler last time we were at the White House,” said Santos. “Will he back you up?”

“I trust Toby to do the right thing,” Josh said, absently rubbing the back of his head. “Leo said if there was someplace I’d rather be, where I needed… I didn’t leave without permission. I was still in contact with the White House even while I was...when I was away.”

“We should call them and give them a head’s up,” Santos pointed out. He'd completed his phone call and was crossing the room towards the other two men.

Bram nodded. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”

“No,” Josh said. “I’ll get it. I still have a couple people who’ll take my call.”

“Bram, can you give us the room?” the Congressman said.

“Sure,” the man responded, glancing between the two men. He was clearly happy to escape the growing tension in the room as he quickly exited, closing the door behind him.

“Please don’t-” Josh began, seeing the look on his candidate’s face.

“Call her, Josh,” Santos said.

“-start in on that again,” Josh said with a sigh. “Surely we have more important things to go over than the shredded remains of my personal life.”

“If this thing about Gaza is going to be a thing-” Santos began.

“It’s not a thing,” Josh insisted.

“It is a thing, Josh,” Santos countered. “That _Telegraph_ reporter just threw ‘failed tragic love affair’ into the mix. You know the rest of the mob was just waiting for something other than the forty-eighth iteration of the stump. Getting them to cover policy is like getting the kids to eat their vegetables.”

“‘It helps if there’s nothing else on their plate,’” Josh quoted.

“So call her. Neither campaign wants this story right now, and you know it. Let her know we’re having the White House make a statement and then the two of you can work on a coordinated message to handle any follow up.”

“I could call Will, speak to him, campaign manager to campaign manager…”

The Congressman walked over, putting his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “Yesterday you were talking about tying Will Bailey’s intestines to the propeller of Marine One.”

“Marine Two, please. I don’t like thinking of either Bailey or Bingo Bob on the real thing.”

“Call her,” Santos repeated.

“‘Kay,” Josh said, defeated. He took his Blackberry out and looked at it, and then his candidate. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be in my room.”

“Just so long as you call,” Santos said. “And Josh?”

“Yeah?”

“I have a good feeling this isn’t going to be as painful a conversation as you think.”

Josh returned a sickly smile back at him. "I hope you're right, sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how manipulative I want Will to be in this, but I fear he's become the villain here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Donna talk. It doesn't go well.

Donna lay in the bed, staring at the clock tick over to 1 AM.. She wished it could have been her own bed, but she’d sublet her apartment when she’d left for New Hampshire back in January. So it was another hotel, another bed, another uncomfortable pillow, and very likely another sleepless night.

She thought of the medicine case in the bathroom, with the Trazodone she’d been prescribed after she’d returned to work. It would help her sleep, help quiet the thoughts already beginning to fester, thoughts of bright flashes, impossibly loud noises, and far too much loss. Of waking up, not knowing where she was, but having a scruffy familiar face there when she did. Damn that reporter, and damn the others that indulged him in his speculation. It was sure to still be a thing tomorrow.

She resisted the lure of medicated slumber. Something might come up and her services as advisor or spokesperson might be required, and she’d need her wits about her, such as they were.

Her cell phone rang. She reached over and grabbed it from where it sat, plugged in, on the nightstand. She started to answer, only to see the screen was still dark, with no sign of an incoming call.

There was still a ringing, though, and it took her several seconds to realize it was her personal cell making the sound. It took a half second longer to remember to whom she’d assigned that particular ringtone.

_Josh._

She stumbled to her purse and rifled through it to find the device. She wondered why he was calling so late, and her blood ran cold that he might be in trouble, that he might need her.

She accepted the call and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

There was a brief pause.

“Donna?”

“Josh?” she said. “It’s one in the morning - is something wrong?”

“One?” he asked. “Crap. I’m sorry. I thought you were still in Omaha.”

“So you thought that midnight would be an appropriate time to call out of the blue?” Donna said, almost reflexively sarcastic. “We flew-”

“-Flew back for the Council of Economic Advisers, yeah, I remember now.” Donna could practically hear him scrub his free hand through his hair. “God, I’m… I really am sorry. I wanted- I was hoping we could get on the same page on a response to that jackass _Telegraph_ reporter. We can do it tomorrow.”

Donna sighed. “I’ve got a full schedule tomorrow. Today. Let’s get it over with.”

She shuffled over to the desk and turned on the light. She put the phone to her left ear as she held pen to paper in her right. “What have you got so far?”

“We’re going to build off what you said. Leo gave me permission to go. We’re going to ask the White House to put that in a statement.”

“Okay,” Donna said. “And Toby will follow that up with the ‘we don’t comment on-’”

“‘-the personal lives of the staff’, yeah.”

“We’ll need to be ready for the follow up questions,” she pointed out.

“Yeah,” Josh agreed.

“Wiseman knows you came to Germany,” Donna said.

“Yeah,” he said. “And, uh, thanks for, y’know, not outing me on that today. I’ll take care of it.”

“What are you going to say?” She found herself holding her breath in anticipation of his answer.

“That my assistant and … friend had been severely injured,” Josh said, almost tripping over the word “friend.” “Maybe tell them that being there afforded me the opportunity to meet with some of the parties that participated in the summit.”

“That wasn’t why you went,” she said.

“No, but at least some good comes out of it that way,” Josh said bitterly, thinking of how the whole meeting had been a setup to allow Chairman Farad to invite himself to talks, and that awful moment when he returned to an empty hospital room and the terrifying hours that followed.

“Oh,” Donna said, her voice growing cold and quiet. “Is there anything else?”

Josh missed the change in tone. “No. I think that should cover it. Except… can you tell me… was going to work for Bing- Russell truly the best decision for you?”

“Unquestionably,” Donna said, curtly, and she hung up on him.

She was shaking. “At least some good comes out of it that way”? How _dare_ he? How could he dismiss what had happened in Germany like that? Didn’t he know what it had meant to her for him to be there?

Had they really drifted that far apart that he remembered that time so badly?

Given the way he’d pulled back when she’d returned to work, acting as if he hadn’t hovered at her bedside, as if he hadn’t looked at her like she’d been his whole world. Like she’d once looked at him, when he’d been shot at Rosslyn.

She wasn’t going to cry. She’d shed enough tears over that jackass and his inconstancy. She also knew she wasn’t going to get sleep any time soon, so she booted up her laptop, intent on going over briefing materials until she collapsed from exhaustion.

***

Back in Portland, Josh was staring at his phone, wondering what he’d done to upset her. Again. Was it that he’d started to say Bingo Bob instead of Vice President Russell, or just that he asked if she was happy that she was working for his campaign.

He sighed. He wasn’t going to tell the Congressman that he’d told him so, but he had. Donna had proved herself good enough to have worked off the White House statement, and there’d been no need for him to have gone and somehow made things worse. It was clear that nothing had changed since those months last autumn. He'd realized, after some painful introspection in the days that followed her departure, that she'd started shutting him out almost as soon as she'd returned from Landstuhl. As if she hadn’t asked for him, not her Irish lover, before her surgery. As if she hadn’t said his name when she’d woken up. As if their moments in Germany didn’t matter.

He pulled out the expense reports Ronna had given him earlier and started to review them. It was going to be a long night.

***

“I can’t believe I’m being forced to talk about this,” Toby was saying from behind the Press Room podium. “Yes, former Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman was not here at the White House in the days following the attack. Yes, he was given leave by the Chief of Staff Leo McGarry to fly to Germany to provide support and comfort to his assistant, a well-loved member of our West Wing staff. He remained in contact with White House staff, and continued to advise the President throughout his stay. No, this wasn’t a state secret at the time. And no, I’m not going to waste any more of my time or yours talking about the personal lives of former staff.”

“Well,” said Will, “I guess that settles that.”

“You sound disappointed,” Donna said, stifling a yawn. “Now we can get back to the issues.”

“Yeah,” he acknowledged. “I guess it was too much to hope that it would last long enough to trigger Josh into shoving his foot in his mouth. What I wouldn’t give for a secret plan to fight inflation right now.”

Donna looked at him sharply. “When did you hear about that?”

“Before I came to work for the Vice President, after Toby had set a draft of mine on fire and tossed it in the garbage can. I was drowning my sorrows with an ice cream sandwich in the mess when Josh came by. We got to talking, and he gave me the ‘if you think that’s bad’ pep talk.”

“That sounds like him,” she noted. “The old him, anyway.”

“Yeah, well, a little more of the old him would be welcome right now. Nothing we do seems to stick to Santos, but Josh has a history we should be able to exploit, if we can just get him to revert to type.”

“Is that how this works? We’re not winning on the issues so we try to tear down our- our friends?”

“That’s how it’s gotta work this time,” Will said, his voice firm. “Santos has too much momentum, and Hoynes is still - inexplicably - polling strong in the South, even with the scandal. We can’t push for more debates - the Vice President has played the low expectations game as much as I’m comfortable with. We need something to shake things up, and make the delegates look our way at the convention.”

“And it has to be Josh?” she asked.

“It’s what we have,” Will explained. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Donna thought of embarrassment of that morning’s call, how Josh had so casually dismissed what had felt so important to her. She pushed down the guilt and the years of history, and shook her head. “No. It won’t be a problem.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh deals with the reporter and takes the bait, much to the Russell campaign's delight

Josh stood in the back of the Peter W. Stott Center at Portland State University as the students cheered on his candidate. It was a good crowd, and the applause lines were hitting well. He clapped as loud as anyone there, his hands coming in a measured staccato, and hoped that this enthusiasm would still be there when they got back to their mail in ballots in their dorm rooms.

The campaign was having a good day. Russell’s ties to the mining industry were hurting him in this liberal town, and the polling was looking good for a win here in Oregon. Toby’s press conference had for the most part nullified any significant fallout from AWOL-gate, or whatever the _Telegraph_ was trying to peddle to their readers. There’d still be some clean up to do; Donna had been right - Wiseman wouldn’t have been pressing if he didn’t have the goods - proof that Josh had flown to Germany, probably even had an interview with Landstuhl staff - or that damn Irish photojournalist - talking about how he’d stayed at her bedside.

And it would be embarrassing, to have put himself out there, and for the country to know she’d rejected him. And then left him to go work for WIll and Bingo Bob.

He’d been embarrassed before, and he’d survived to fight on.

The Congressman was leading up to the climax of the speech, and Josh decided to slip out before the mass of kids did, to avoid getting bounced around in a miasma of patchouli and axe body spray. He pulled on his sunglasses as he exited into the May afternoon sunlight, only to be set upon by a seeming horde of reporters.

“Mr Lyman!”  
“Josh!”  
“The _Telegraph_ is reporting…”  
“Will you be making a statement…”

He sighed inwardly and turned to face the microphones thrust at him like a collection of Hoplite spears. “One at a time, please! There’s enough of me to go around, but you’re going to have to share.”

“Vice President Russell has suggested that Congressman Santos is not qualified to deal with the intricacies of international diplomacy. How do you respond to accusations that your candidate simply isn’t experienced enough for the job?”

“I’d respond by saying Bob Russell didn’t have that much more experience when he was thrown on a list by Jeff Haffley to make sure the Republicans won this coming election. I’d say that Matt Santos served and fought for his country in the Marines and as Mayor of Houston he was in charge of a population nearly three times larger than Russell’s whole congressional district.”

“As a former Marine, how does Matt Santos regard the peacekeepers in Jerusalem and the Gaza Strip? If he’s elected, will he keep our troops in harm’s way?”

“As Commander in Chief of course the congressman would review all deployments to ensure the safety and effectiveness of our troops, but I am certain Matt Santos will make sure we live up to this country’s commitments.”

“These were the troops that came out of the Camp David peace talks that you took part in?”

“Yes…” Josh admitted, realizing that he’d given them the opening they wanted.

“Is it true you didn’t arrive until late the second day of those talks?”

“Is there a point you’re trying to make?” Josh snarled. “Yes, I arrived on the second day. I was returning from Germany, where I had been visiting my assistant as she recovered from injuries suffered in a damn terrorist attack. Toby Ziegler covered all this in his morning briefing.”

“You want us to believe,” began the clipped British accent of the _Telegraph_ ’s Alan Wiseman, “that you flew to Germany during the greatest international crisis of this Presidency for your _secretary_?”

“I don’t care what you believe,” snapped Josh. “But get your facts straight. I flew to Germany because this woman I had known for eight years, a woman who was not only my _Senior Assistant_ but probably my best friend at the time, had been critically injured.”

Behind the crowd, security staff were moving to prepare the route from the building to the bus that would whisk Matt Santos and his team to the next event, and most of the reporters started to make their way to question the candidate upon exit.

“Best friend, or lover?” the man said, taking a suggestive tone. “I have a copy of Ms. Moss’s transcripts from the University of Wisconsin, both years…”

“How the hell-?”

“Hired without a degree and immediately made Senior Assistant to the Deputy Chief of Staff. I’m sure everyone here has heard the story of the leggy blonde mistress given a cushy secretarial position-”

“That’s a goddamn lie! Anyone who’s worked with her would tell you - I mean, just look at what she’s done for Russ-”

“That explains how she got the job on the Russell campaign, of course,” the reporter said. “She has been seen having dinner with Will Bailey several times…”

“You son of a bitch!” Josh exploded with motion, grabbing the reporter by the collar and driving him into the brick wall of the building. “Don’t you dare say that about her! Don’t you fu-”

***

Will and Donna sat at the conference room in the OEOB, picking at the Chinese an intern brought them while going over the schedule for Memorial Day.

“The speech and wreath laying at Arlington should be done by noon,” Donna was saying. “We should be in Clarksburg by 2. We drive up to Grafton for another wreath laying, then back to the VA Medical Center. That might work as a backdrop for that speech on treating our returning wounded.”

“Pencil it in,” Will said around a mouthful of shrimp and snow peas. He jotted down a couple more lines onto the legal pad.

Another staffer came in, and handed him a folded note. He opened it and read the message, and began to smile. “Looks like the old Josh Lyman wasn’t as deeply buried as we thought.”

“Why? What happened?” Donna asked, her concern reflexive.

He grabbed the remote and changed the channel from C-SPAN to CNN. He was a little disappointed that they weren’t covering it as the top story, but after a minute, the words he was looking for scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

“SANTOS CAMPAIGN MANAGER IN ALTERCATION WITH REPORTER”

“Please tell me he threw a punch,” Will said, almost gleefully.

Donna, for her part, remained stoic. This was what they'd been hoping for, the sort of thing they needed to win. And if Josh couldn’t keep his temper, maybe people would be right to question his judgement, and that of his candidate. With a grim, ironic smile, she realized that she had learned to keep things at arm’s length after all.

The message had come and gone a few times before the anchor got to the story. Their camera was focused on Congressman Santos shaking hands and high fiving the students and faculty, when there came the sounds of a commotion behind them. The image spun to capture Josh slamming a reporter into a wall, with the audio interspersed with a series of beeps censoring his language. Two other reporters had jumped in to restrain Josh before he could throw a punch. As they pulled him away, Will and Donna could see, against the wall, the smug face of Alan Wiseman smiling at the camera. A microphone caught his words - “The truth hurts, huh, Mr. Lyman?” - that precipitated another barely restrained rush and another series of bleeped out invectives from Josh.

“We got him!” Vice President Russell gloated from the doorway. He turned to Will. “I just got the message and had to see it for myself. What’s our next step?”

Will flipped to a new page in his legal pad and started to scribble down thoughts. “We use a light touch ourselves. We can question his emotional stability, and then pivot to how he was who gave Matt Santos legitimacy in the first place.”

“Will it work?” Donna asked, a little ashamed as Will gave voice to her own thoughts on how to exploit the incident. “Santos has been out there for months - I think he stands on his own at this point.”

“Maybe so,” Russell said. “But I’ll tell you that I like the idea of heading into this last month of the primaries without Josh Lyman at Santos’s side. It makes me - and our donors - a lot more confident about our chances.”

“Josh isn’t going to resign over this,” Donna insisted. She remembered Sam’s campaign, and Toby and Charlie actually spending time in jail over a fist fight with some bigots who’d come after Andy.

“If we do our job right,” Will said, “he won't have any choice.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout. Angsty. Josh feels sorry for himself, but he has more friends than he knows.

“What were you thinking?” Santos demanded. He had followed the man to the back of the bus, but his voice carried to all the staff, who were looking uncomfortably at one another.

“I screwed up,” Josh said. He was bent over a small table on the bus, writing something.

“You think? You assaulted a reporter back there!”

Josh looked up from his seat. “I know.”

“You lost your temper,” Santos continued, “you got baited.”

“I know,” Josh said again, and turned his attention to a second piece of paper.

“What do we do now?”

Josh continued to write, jotting down a series of names.

“Josh?”

“One second, Congressman,” he said, pausing to think a moment before adding a couple more names to the list.

Santos looked over his shoulder and began to read out loud. “Leo McGarry. Toby Ziegler…”

“Yeah,” Josh shrugged. “Those first two aren’t going to happen. But I had to include them, ‘cause… you know.”

“Sam Seaborn. Joey Lucas. Mandy Hampton. Louise Thornton…” Santos continued.

“The last one - I haven’t worked with her, but Lou’s really good. She may run a rougher campaign than you’re used to though. I can’t say I’d be unhappy to see what she’d hit Russell with.”

Santos narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Josh, what is this?”

Josh didn’t say anything, but instead handed him the other piece of paper.

Taking the sheet, he read the words silently. “I won’t accept this.”

“You have to, Congressman,” Josh said, his face serious. “I’ve embarrassed the campaign. I’m a liability now, and this race is too tight for you to carry any unneeded baggage. These are good names, they’ll do a good job for you.”

“And I told you I’m not doing this without you,” Santos insisted. He sat down across from his campaign manager. “Talk to me, Josh. What happened back there? I know you can be volatile at times, but you’re not violent.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Santos said. “It matters to Ronna and Ned and Bram and all the others who are working their asses off on this campaign and have looked up to you as an example.”

“Their mistake, I guess,” Josh said bitterly, looking out the window.

“Josh…”

“I blew it, okay?” Josh erupted, rising to his feet and scattering the remaining papers with a sweep of his arm. “You said it yourself - I let myself get baited. I got played, and a clip of me shoving that jackass into the wall is going to be on every channel tonight. Never mind the stump, they’re going to forget your name for the next twenty-four hours except as the guy who hired a crazy man to run his campaign. You either have to accept my resignation or you have to fire me. You don’t have a choice!”

Matt Santos watched his campaign manager stand there, his face flushed and his chest heaving, and his heart went out to him. He knew how much Josh had given up for the campaign, how hard the man had worked.

“I gotta get some air,” Josh said, grabbing his backpack, pushing past Santos and stumbling his way up the aisle. “I need… I’ll stop back at the hotel later, pick up my stuff. I just need to clear my head for a bit.”

With that, Josh Lyman stepped off the bus and into the cold rain that had begun to fall on the streets of Portland.

***

Donna returned to her room and tried to push the day away from her. Will had gone into a closed door meeting with the Vice President, saying he’d have a statement about the Portland incident for her to give in the morning.

She was fairly confident that whatever Will was going to come up with would be short, succinct, and laden with devastating implications for the Santos campaign manager. And she was going to deliver it, because that was the job she’d signed up for. The job she’d left _him_ for.

She didn’t want to think of Josh or the campaign just then, but it was preferable to those other thoughts she'd been trying to avoid. Monday was Memorial Day, and a year ago Monday was the day when her whole world quite literally turned upside down.

She’d come a long way in that year, so much further than she ever could have expected. She was the Deputy Campaign Director and spokesperson for a campaign for the Presidency. It was so far from that nervous young woman trying to bluff her way to a job. But it didn’t feel like she’d done enough. She owed it to Admiral Fitzwallace, to Congressmen Korb and DeSantos, to James Holtman. She had to do great things, make her life worth something to make up for what had been lost that terrible day in Gaza.

She moved to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face to break the thought spiral. She fumbled with her medicine case - if ever “as needed” applied, this was the night. After watching the Vice President and Will scheme the best way to take Josh’s outburst and use it to smear him and Matt Santos, she found herself disinclined to be at anyone’s beck and call. She took the Trazadone with water.

***

After a brief photo op with Portland's mayor, the Santos campaign had convened in their designated war room, still lacking their campaign manager. They went through the motions, with Ned, Ronna and Bram all making sure of the details for their upcoming trips to Nebraska and Kentucky.

Matt Santos stood in the middle of the room, his phone to his ear, listening to Josh’s voicemail message. He hung up before leaving a message. “Dammit, Josh, talk to me,” he whispered to himself.

He never should have let him get off the bus. Josh was too distraught in that moment to be left wandering the streets of a city he couldn’t be that familiar with. It was easy to think of Josh Lyman as a political machine, to be surprised by these moments of human frailty, but Matt had known better. Known from the quiet moments they’d shared in Nashua, from late night talks when the man had let his guard down. He’d gotten a glimpse of his heart, and knew it to be broken. He’d decided on that even before he’d seen Josh’s eyes linger on a TV screen showing a blonde woman yelling at a volunteer in a chicken suit, before seeing him have to consciously pull his gaze away from that same woman during a DNC event at the White House.

When he’d literally sat on and then got to speak a while with Donna Moss during “Operation Sleepover” before the stem cell vote, and noticed the way she tried to ask about Josh without directly mentioning him, he became convinced the heartbreak was mutual.

“Congressman?” Ronna said, approaching him holding a cell phone.

“Is it Josh?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head. “It’s someone named Joey Lucas, and he says it’s vitally important that he talks to you. About Josh.”

Santos took the phone. “This is Matt Santos.”

“Don’t let Josh Lyman resign,” a voice said.

“Joey Lucas?”

“This is Kenny Thurman, I’m translating for Joey. She says you can’t let Josh quit.”

Matt gave a small chuckle. “I wasn’t planning on it. He’s not answering my calls right now, though.”

“He’s not answering mine either.” Kenny relayed. “But he’ll show up, trust me. He may be getting drunk, though, so it’s possible he’ll be a little useless tomorrow.”

“I’ll remember that,” Santos said. “I don’t know that I’ve seen him have more than half a glass of champagne the whole time we worked together.”

“He has a very delicate system,” came Joey’s response. “Congressman, I don’t know if you saw the altercation, but you do need to know why Josh lost his temper. Kenny tells me that you can’t hear because of the censoring…”

“But you read Wiseman’s lips, didn’t you?” Santos said, understanding.

“Yes.”

“And…”

“The reporter accused Donna Moss of sleeping her way to her job,” Joey explained. “You need to understand that Josh has been in love with her for as long as I’ve known them and he would do anything for her.”

“Ah,” Santos sighed. “I was getting that feeling - and I should have guessed it was about her.”

“He’s a good man, Congressman.” Joey’s affection came through Kenny’s voice. “Frustrating and arrogant and monomaniacal at times, yes. But he’s smart and loyal and he’ll win you this nomination if you don’t let him screw it up right now.”

“I won’t, and thanks,” Santos said. “Oh, there's one thing you should know.”

“Yes?”

“He drew up a list of people he trusted to replace him. You were on it.”

“Yes.” Matt could hear the warm, genuine laugh from Joey in the background. “Let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that.”

***

Josh sat at the bar of the Cheerful Tortoise, on the campus grounds of Portland State, staring at the ice melt in the drink in front of him. He’d had intentions of drinking himself into a stupor to toast the end of his political career, but the first taste of the scotch he’d ordered had turned his stomach.

His phone buzzed again in his pocket. He ignored it. There was no one he wanted to talk to right then.

That wasn’t entirely true. He certainly wished he could explain to Donna that he’d thrown it all away for her. Thinking back, it had always been her, his Achilles’ Heel. It must have been obvious enough to Will, the way he’d sprung Donna on him back in Nashua.

The bar was pretty loud, as the hours had passed the crowd had switched from watching an NBA playoff game to the start of an NHL playoff game, and it took several seconds for Josh to realize the manager was calling for him.

“I said, are you Josh Lyman!” the woman yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth.

He blinked. He shouted back, “Who’s asking?”

“I need you to follow me!” she said, exaggerating her words and jerking her thumb towards an open door.

Josh was confused, but got up from the stool and followed the woman’s directions and found himself in a small office. He started to make a bad joke, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Phone call for you,” the manager said, now that the noise level was quiet enough for comprehension.

“From whom?”

The woman’s look was dead serious. “They said it’s the White House.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope my depiction of Joey talking to Santos is ok - the internet wasn't terribly helpful in how to write a deaf person being translated over the phone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh Lyman has important friends who have his back.

“Josh Lyman,” he spoke into the handset of the phone.

“Josh, is that you, son?”

Even if he’d been drinking like he’d planned, that voice would have sobered him up instantly. “Mr. President?”

“My youngest daughter and my Chief of Staff - both of them, actually - tell me you aren’t answering your phone,” President Bartlet said, reproachfully. “And your candidate doesn’t know where you were.”

“Former candidate…” Josh tried to correct him.

“Go peddle that hogwash someplace else,” Bartlet said, “‘cause I’m not buying. The Josh Lyman I know never quit on me and he sure as hell isn’t going to quit on Matt Santos.”

“I screwed up.”

“Like you’ve never done that before?” the President laughed. “So stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your head back in the game.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Josh said. “This campaign is too important to drag it down with me. It’s better if they get someone not so … vulnerable… to run it.”

“How’d he get you, Josh? What did he say about Donna?”

“Donna, sir? What makes you think-?” Josh asked.

“I know you. I’ve watched you for years, seen your loyalty to me, to the people you care about. I hear he’s been asking questions about what happened after Gaza last year, and then I see you go after him. There is nothing he possibly could have said about you that would elicit more than one of your patented sarcastic remarks; ergo, he insulted Donna.”

“Am I that transparent, Mr. President?”

“To those who care about you, yes,” Bartlet said.

Josh sighed. “He accused… it’s too disgusting to repeat. He suggested Donna hadn't earned everything she’s achieved legitimately.”

“Want me to have the CIA take him out?” It was a joke, but beneath it Josh could hear actual anger in the President’s voice. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I was trying to resign…” Josh pointed out.

“Well, that’s stupid,” the President responded, “and it doesn’t help Donna, does it? So I ask you again, what are you going to do about it?”

Josh thought for a second, and offered up the only plan that seemed to have a chance at working.

“That sounds like a good start,” Bartlet said about the idea. “Abbey’s looking at me and I want you to remember I’m a nice guy, because I’m not going to let her scold you tonight. She does want me to remind you to take your medicine, eat real food and get more than three hours of sleep, because if you have any sort of cardiac event, she will personally take care of your recovery, and she’s going to be a lot meaner than Donna was after Rosslyn.”

“Yes sir.”

“Now there’s going to be a car waiting outside the bar,” the President said in a tone that brooked no debate. “A friend of Mike Casper’s is going to take you back to your hotel, whereupon you will apologize to your candidate and staff for scaring them. Then you can call everyone you’ve been ignoring for the last two hours. And then you can settle your score with the reporter, and go win this thing for Santos.”

Josh felt humbled. “I will, sir. Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Now, go!” the leader of the free world commanded him, and Josh found himself complying unconsciously.

***

Fifteen minutes later he passed through the doors of the Radisson. Mike Casper’s friend, a member of the Portland FBI office named Special Agent DeFreitas, had expected him to be falling down drunk, and was glad for her car’s interior’s sake that wasn’t the case. She had also relayed some encouraging words from Mike, along with a promise to get drunk together next time he was in D.C..

On the way, he scrolled through all his missed calls. Sam, Zoey Bartlet. The White House, a couple times, as well as Leo and CJ’s private numbers. Charlie. Joey Lucas. Matt Skinner. Even Ryan Pierce, of all people. Bram and Ronna. Congressman Santos, seemingly every ten minutes. He considered himself lucky that the story had likely broken after his mother would have gone to bed, or there’d be hell to pay on that front.

He took the elevator to the war room, hesitating at the door. Should he knock? Would he even be welcome? His phone buzzed in his hand, and he glanced at it and saw the name. He took a deep breath, accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear.

“Yes, Congressman?”

“Josh!” Santos exclaimed. “Where the hell have you been - you’ve got us worried to death. We were about to send out a search party!”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Santos was on a roll. “Now get your ass back to the hotel. I told you that I’m not going to accept your resignation, and we need to work out a strategy to fix this.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t give me that there’s no-,” Josh smiled a bit when he noticed his candidate’s brain catch up with his response. “Did you say okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Josh said.

“Where are you? Are you drunk? Do you need someone to pick you up?”

“No, Congressman, I’m not drunk and I don’t need to be picked up,” Josh was actually grinning. “Actually, I’m right outside the door, sir.”

There were a few seconds of clatter. He could vaguely hear Santos relay that information to the others in the room, before the door was thrown open and Ronna ran up and hugged him tightly and then Bram pulled him into the room by the arm. There were more hugs, some mild reprovals and expressions of relief, and Josh was taken aback at the surge of warmth and camaraderie.

“Look,” Josh said, trying to get a word in among the barrage of questions and other comments, “can I just say something?”

The room settled down a little.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I messed up earlier, and I just made all our jobs that much harder, and I apologize for that. I… appreciate all of your concern, and I’m humbled by it. I really hope you can all keep that last bit to yourselves - I do have a reputation to maintain. But we have an early flight to Lincoln in the morning, and we don’t want the Congressman to miss the 12:30 mass at St. Mary’s.”

He looked at them, finding himself proud of his team, and the faith they had in him and the candidate he’d picked. He smiled, one of the first genuine smiles he’d managed that year. “Now go! Get some sleep! I promise not to wander off into the Willamette while you’re in your beds.”

The staff scattered. He got some claps on the back, and another hug from Ronna, with a sympathetic look he couldn’t quite fathom. Soon, only he and Congressman Santos remained.

“I really do apologize, Congressman,” he began.

“Forget about it, Josh,” Santos said. “We’ll fix it. All of us, together.”

“There’s something you need to know, something I’m probably going to have to deal with going forward…” Josh tried to figure out how to explain what had happened.

“It’s really okay,” the Congressman said as he rested his hand on Josh’s shoulder. “I’d probably have done the same if someone said about Helen.”

Josh looked sharply at him, before hanging his head. “It’s out, then? I didn’t know if they caught what he said on camera.”

“Well, your language was a little too salty for the news, so you don’t hear what he accuses her of, but in one the angles, you can see Wiseman’s lips.”

“Joey saw. She’d called…,” Josh realized immediately, thinking of the missed call.

“She wanted to make sure I didn’t let you screw this up,” Santos said.

“Yeah,” Josh said.

“You got a plan?”

“Part of one, anyway,” Josh noted. “It’s back into the lion’s den for me.”

Santos nodded. Josh would have to make a personal apology, something that couldn’t be delegated to other staff. It would be dicey, but he wasn’t about to stop trusting Josh’s instincts - they’d led them this far. “Okay. Maybe get some rest yourself. Wheels up at 5:30 tomorrow for the trip to Lincoln.”

Josh nodded. “I should let people know I’m okay, first, and maybe write down a draft for tomorrow. Good night, Congressman.”

“Good night, Josh,” Santos returned. “And… thanks for being okay. You had us worried.”

“Yeah,” Josh said. “And… thanks.”

***

Josh fumbled a bit with his card key before getting into his hotel room. He went through the list of missed calls, trying to decide which ones he should return that evening, to which he should just fire off a text, and, particularly for those on the East Coast, who should get an e-mail instead. He checked through his call history twice, looking and not finding the one number he’d hoped to find, the one he’d have returned in a heartbeat. She hadn’t called. She didn’t care. He sighed. She was probably up with Will trying to figure out how to shame him for his outburst and spread that disgrace to the Congressman, not knowing it was her that he was defending.

He finished a text to Joey Lucas, and booted his computer to get most of the rest in a mass e-mail. His finger hovered over the number one speed dial, the one he’d never dared switch out no matter how much it hurt to see, before hitting seven instead. The phone rang just once before the other man answered.

“Hey Sam,” he said. “I’m sorry for ignoring you earlier. I’ve had a bit of a day…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a whole behind-the-scenes of the President stretching his authority by having Mike Casper track Josh's phone to the bar, but I figured Josh would be smart enough to figure that out and also wouldn't make a big deal about it. If Wiseman found out, it would have been a far bigger scandal than what he's been pursuing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh takes some questions. Donna has some regrets.

“Does the Russell campaign have any comment on yesterday’s incident between Josh Lyman and a reporter?”

Donna was holding audience outside the Robley Rex VA Medical Center in Louisville, where the Vice President was attending the 9:15 AM services with some of the staff and patients. She’d again laid out Will’s talking points about Bob Russell’s honoring of America’s fighting forces, and had been waiting - and dreading - this line of questioning.

“Obviously any disciplinary action against Mr. Lyman would be a question for the Santos campaign. The Vice President, however, would like to reiterate his deep and abiding respect for the press and our First Amendment.”

“From your personal experience with Josh Lyman, were you surprised by such a violent outburst?”

Donna paused. “The Josh Lyman I knew, and as the White House Press Corps can attest, would often wear his emotions on his sleeve, but I never knew him to be physically aggressive. That said, I haven’t seen him very often during these primaries, so I can’t speak to how he’s been dealing with the stress and pressure of that campaign.”

She felt sick to her stomach even saying those words provided by Will. She supposed she should be happy he hadn’t included a reference to that fistfight with Toby back in February.

She picked a friendly reporter who had a question about the Vice President’s defense spending initiative, and dispensed as best she could with a science journalist questioning the planned speech Russell was to give on Clean Coal before Tuesday’s West Virginia primary. Seeing the Vice President and his entourage exit the building, she gratefully wrapped up the press conference and headed to the car, heading back to the Air National Guard base.

***

Josh hated this. Hated that he’d made himself the story, that his moment of weakness was distracting from the campaign as they headed into the final month. But he had lost his temper and he had to deal with the consequences.

The Congressman was off attending Mass at St. Mary’s, a beautiful cathedral located right across the street from the state capitol building, while Josh had remained at the Country Inn & Suites by the airport, where he was to make a short statement.

“Good afternoon,” he began. “We all know why we’re here. Yesterday, while addressing reporters in Portland, I allowed myself to become emotional, and I acted inexcusably. I extend a sincere apology to Alan Wiseman and the _Daily Telegraph_ for my conduct. There was no excuse for laying my hands on Mr. Wiseman’s person.”

He looked down at the scribbled notes, wishing he’d had Sam or Toby give them a polish. In the end, maybe it was best to speak from the heart. He continued, “As many of you may know, Mr. Wiseman, along with some others, have been asking a series of questions regarding the events following the tragic car bombing of our Congressional Delegation a year ago tomorrow. I can’t, nor would I dare try, speak for those most personally impacted by this terrible event. But make no mistake, I was affected. I had sent my best friend there on that CODEL, and for several hours I didn’t know if she was going to live or die.”

He felt the wave of guilt and panic begin, and fought to keep his composure.

“I flew to Germany because there was nowhere else I could be at the time. I am eternally grateful to Leo McGarry for giving me permission to go, but if you ask him, I think he would be the first to tell you that I wasn’t going to function anywhere near my best at that time. And I’m not going to apologize for that. I was better able to serve the President and this country from Landstuhl, even if the nursing staff was a little irritated that I was using my cell phone to, y’know, keep in contact with the White House.”

“Were you engaged in a sexual relationship with Donna Moss?” asked a reporter from MSNBC.

“That’s the kicker, right? That’s what that reporter was insinuating that got me into this mess,” Josh said. “The answer is no. My relationship with Donna has always been platonic, and I’m insulted by the idea that I would abuse my position by pursuing a physical relationship with a subordinate. Moreover, the very idea is more insulting to Donna, as it belittles the talent, perseverance and intelligence that she brought every day to that building.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky that Donna found my office when she came to New Hampshire to volunteer for Bartlet for America. I do know that she convinced me to give her a chance, told me I would find her valuable, and I have never - _never_ \- been disappointed by that decision. She was essential to the work we did, even growing to help sit in on federal budget negotiations and review the Pardon board’s recommendations to advise the President himself. And since she left the White House…” - Josh somehow managed not to say “me” - “she has risen to Deputy Campaign Manager and spokesperson for what pains me to say is the current leader in primary delegates.

“So don’t you dare, as that leech from the scandal sheet did yesterday, accuse her of getting any of her success by any means other than her own hard work, dedication and brilliance. Because, while I am happy our Founders built robust protections in the First Amendment for speech and the press, if Donna wanted to sue you for that slander, I swear I will quit my job and join her legal team.”

“Are you in love with Donna Moss?” asked someone from CNN.

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Why not?”

“Because whatever my feelings for Ms. Moss, I’m not going to share them with a bunch of random muckrakers.”

At least, he thought, not before I share them with her.

***

Donna absently wiped a tear from her eye, glad she’d been in her office when she finally got to review Josh’s press conference. He stood up there and called her his best friend, said that she was brilliant and talented, and that even despite their estrangement he didn’t regret hiring her.

And more, it seemed that whatever the _Telegraph_ reporter had said to trigger Josh’s anger, it had been directed at her. After everything, his first instinct was still to defend her.

And what had she done in return? Donna had tried to get him fired, or at least, willingly regurgitated the words Will had written to pressure him to resign. She’d told herself that she and Josh could still be friends, and after the primary, she’d find him and explain things - or even better, if Will’s suggestion that he’d join the Russell Presidential campaign came to pass, they could meet as equals and everything would fall into place. And she’d made herself a promise that if he were in trouble, if he really needed her, she would be there for him, that she still wouldn’t stop for red lights.

He’d needed her yesterday. She could have called and offered her support. While she knew, had it drilled into her by the people she’d talked to after Gaza, that she had to take care of herself first, she could have given him some words of encouragement. A text, at least, to say that she’d thought of slamming Wiseman into a wall a few times herself, and to let him know he could call her if he wanted.

Of course, she’d tried a similar approach when she’d quit, making sure the new temp had her number in case he was willing to listen and let her explain why she’d needed to leave.

She shook her head. She’d known he wouldn’t call back in December, and he wouldn’t have called yesterday either. But he _had_ called the other night, and she could remember the awkward way he’d thanked her for covering for him with the reporter.

As if she was going to share one of the most endearing, most important moments of her life with someone trying to turn it into something scandalous.

She tried very hard not to think about the way Josh had dodged the question at the end of the press conference.

***

Will had to give Josh credit - he didn’t think the man had it in him to be emotionally vulnerable enough to give that sort of apology. Russell’s campaign manager had been counting on his counterpart for Santos to play to type - either to quit outright to let the Congressman move on from the story, or to go full Bartlet’s Bulldog and get into a protracted conflict with the press, who then would feel obligated to protect that guy from the Telegraph. All Will would have to have done is let them tear each other apart, leaving Bob Russell seeming measured and Presidential.

Well, he would seem measured, anyway.

He made his way to the Vice President’s office. The assistant wasn’t at her desk, so he knocked and entered, seeking to map out an alternate plan.

Russell was on his cell phone, but acknowledged Will’s entrance with a gesture.

“-ed up by missing your flight and not making the press conference,” the Vice President said, “so you better get your ass to West Virginia on Monday. And go hard - trust me, he’ll crack if you keep on him.”

Will’s expression froze.

“The man was ready to bomb the entire Middle East when she was hurt last year. I’ve read Lyman’s file - you just need to trigger his PTSD and take him off the goddam board.”

Russell listened for several seconds. “Whatever it takes,” he said, and ended the call.

“Mr. Vice President,” Will began, “is there anything I should know?”

“Don’t worry about it, Will,” Russell said. “I am able to do some things on my own, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” Will nodded, a sickening feeling forming in the pit of his stomach.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will shares what he learned with Donna, who makes a plan.

“Donna, I need to talk to you,” Will said, closing her office door behind him.

She followed, her brow furrowed in concern. “What happened?”

“I don’t know how to say this,” he began, “except to spit it all out and hope you have might have an alternate explanation.”

Will laid out the basics of what he’d just seen and heard.

“You think the Vice President has been working with the _Daily Telegraph_ to try to embarrass me and Josh? What did he hope to gain?”

“I hate to say this, but I think you were just a means to get to Josh,” Will said. “I know Vice President Russell was upset Josh refused to run his campaign, and even less enthused when he showed up in New Hampshire with Santos. He wants Josh out and he’s not overly burdened by conscience in how that happens.”

“I’m not sure how this involves me,” Donna said.

“I’m sorry, Donna, but you know better than that. People have been trying to get to Josh through you for years.”

“I ran his office. I kept the schedule,” Donna said, shaking her head. “I admit I probably knew how to get him to do things he may not have wanted, but that’s just because we spent so much time together. That doesn’t mean…”

“Think whatever you want, but I’m positive Russell was talking to Wiseman last night,” Will stated. “The Santos campaign is going to be in Clarksburg tomorrow - they’re at the VA before us. And if he gets to Josh, or if Josh is in the vicinity and that guy goes after you…”

“Josh won’t screw up again,” Donna insisted. “He’ll be on his guard.”

“Donna, it’s _you_ ,” Will said. “Russell told him to try to trigger Josh’s PTSD. He talked about Josh going off outside the Oval when _you_ were hurt. Something bad is going to happen today and I don’t know how to stop it.”

Donna looked at him, fear gripping her heart. “We take a stand. You could leak it - get it out there before anything happens.”

“That's assuming Russell hasn’t covered his tracks,” Will noted. “It’s my word against his, and my career if we get this wrong. Tanking the campaign of the Democratic frontrunner - neither of us will get hired to manage anything higher than a school board race in Topeka after that.”

“Some things are more important!”

“Maybe so,” Will said, “but you’ve come too far this year to throw it away on this.”

Donna acted like she’d been slapped. Echoes of CJ telling her she’d held herself back for Josh rang through her head. Another voice, recalling a cold autumn evening, her and Josh sitting on a bench, as she waited and hoped a bad choice on a blind date wouldn’t land her in prison, reminded her that Josh would do it for her in a heartbeat.

Still another thought came that Josh would probably find a third option that would stop Bingo Bob and wouldn’t cost them their careers in the process.

A third option…

“OK, Will, I think I have an idea…” she said.

***

“Stop fretting, Josh, “ Santos said. His campaign staff had huddled around him on their early morning flight to the capital of West Virginia. “It’s going to be fine. Russell’s been hitting us on Veterans for the last couple days. You were right when you decided to put us before the same crowd two days ago and you’re still right today. I’m ready to put my record up against his on the issue. Will Bailey can write a pretty speech, but I think our proposals for the VA not only sound better, but actually help our service members a lot more.”

“It’s not-,” Josh said, distracted. “It’s still a risk, Congressman. And it’s not like we’re going to win West Virginia, so the best we can hope for is to get a good sound bite on tonight’s news or in Monday’s paper, and I’m not sure it’s an efficient use of our money. I can’t say I’m looking forward to a three hour bus ride from Charleston either.”

“And it’s not because you’re afraid to see Donna Moss?”

“I can’t begin to tell you how ridiculous of an idea that is,” Josh objected.

“Whatever you say, Josh,” Ronna piped in cheerfully, giving Bram and Ned a knowing look.

Josh rolled his eyes skyward and sighed. “No respect I get. I make one heartfelt speech and I lose my entire aura of implaccableness.”

“Next thing you’ll be coming out for drinks with the rest of us and telling embarrassing stories about your childhood,” Bram said with a laugh.

“Yeah, like that’ll ever happen,” Josh scoffed. He caught the look of disappointment on the staff’s faces, and corrected himself, “Okay, maybe in November. A beer at the Convention at the earliest.”

“All right, everyone,” Santos said, “enough fun for now. Josh and I need to go over some details together.”

The other staffers moved off down the plane to give the pair some space.

“Thanks,” Josh said when the others were out of earshot.

The Congressman gave his campaign manager a sympathetic look. “That was a helluva speech you gave yesterday. Maybe you’ll get a chance to follow up later.”

Josh blinked and looked away. “That’s… unlikely, sir.”

“C’mon, don’t tell me we’re back to this,” Santos complained. “You miss her, she misses you. You’ll be in the same place for the first time in a couple weeks, right? Why don’t you ask her to stop for coffee, see if she’d like to talk. You can catch a later flight back…”

“Congressman…”

“Josh…” Santos mimicked.

“I called. The other night, when you kept pushing me,” Josh said.

“Okay,” Santos said, nodding. “So that’s a good start.”

“No, not really,” Josh said, bitterly. “She hung up on me.”

Santos looked at him, surprised at that.

“Sir, if you don’t actually have anything to go over, I think I’d like to get a little work done.”

The Congressman looked at him sadly, and nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you, sir.”

***

There were Suburbans.

She’d been campaigning with the Vice President himself more and more as the race had gone on, and had traveled in the black SUVs from time to time, but today, it was threatening to overwhelm her. She’d taken what precautions she could, sitting in a different seat, verifying that everyone was buckled in, and going through the breathing exercises she’d learned in therapy. She had the Trazadone in her purse as well, just in case.

She’d emailed Michelle, her therapist, the previous evening, and with her approval, had called this morning. There was no escaping this day, and much as Donna might want to avoid it, to take the day and just curl up in bed and try to forget everything, she was too stubborn to do so. She had lived, and that had to matter.

Donna explained what was going on, how someone was trying to use her trauma to hurt her and a dear friend. She and Michelle spoke briefly of the events of the previous year, not just the explosion, but also the days and weeks that followed. Donna knew she’d never been as forthright as she should have about Josh’s role during those times; the good, the bad and the tear-at-your-hair-and-scream frustration of it all. Michelle hadn’t pushed in previous sessions, and she wasn’t exactly pressuring her now, but Donna could hear what might be amusement in the woman’s voice.

Her therapist had been surprised by Donna’s plan, and asked her if she’d considered it fully. Donna told her that it was the best she could come up with, and that she was as ready as she would ever be. Michelle had told her that she had no plans for the day, and if Donna needed her, she’d have her cell phone on her and would take her call.

Donna looked at the phone in her hands. She should call him, warn him what she was planning. He might have a better idea, one that wouldn’t be so risky for her. But it was her responsibility now. The candidate she had chosen to work for had gone too far, and she had to be the one to stop it.

She scolded herself for ever thinking Bob Russell deserved to be President. But it wasn’t too late to correct that mistake. Maybe it wasn’t too late to correct some others, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate chapter - I hope - so ideally we'll have the finale by the 24th.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donna has something she needs to say.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Donna tore her eyes away from the mirror, but retained the white-knuckled grip on the sink. A woman wearing the white coat of a doctor was looking at her with concern. Donna hadn’t even heard the door to the bathroom open.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she stammered.

The Russell campaign caravan had pulled into the Louis A Jordan VA Medical Center twenty minutes ago, and Donna had held on by the skin of her teeth. She’d excused herself as soon as she could and found the nearest restroom. She’d dry heaved into the toilet, but hadn’t been able to eat that day so there was nothing to come up.

“You don’t look fine,” the woman said, looking her over with a clinical eye. “Do you need to sit down? Take a few minutes?”

Donna shook her head. “I just need to throw a little water on my face. I’ll be okay, thanks.”

She turned on the cold tap and let it run for a moment, before collecting it in her cupped hands and splashing it in her face. She repeated the process a couple times, before the doctor pressed a towel into her hands to dry off.

“Thanks,” Donna said, patting herself dry. She saw the concern in the woman’s face, and managed a smile. “I’ll be all right. The day was getting away from me, but I think I’ve got it together.”

The doctor gave her one last appraising look, before nodding. She washed her hands, dried them and left the restroom. Donna took the opportunity to touch up her makeup, before taking a few deep breaths and heading back outside. Her phone buzzed - a text from Will saying that he and the Vice President were headed up to a conference room set aside for them, and wishing her good luck.

She made her way outside, where she quickly found an assemblage of reporters surrounding Josh. There was a general grumbling about being outside in the sweltering heat of the May afternoon, and she suspected it was Josh’s way to keep questions to a minimum.

The thin sheen of perspiration forming on her own brow was as much from nervousness as the heat. She’d immediately caught sight of Wiseman skulking behind the reporter from the _Post_ , like a cat ready to pounce, or, more appropriately, like a snake in the grass, ready to strike.

She watched the man reach into his messenger bag, pulling out a manila envelope. She moved her way around to get a better look. Wiseman was half listening as Josh explained the Congressman was up meeting with administrators. Donna watched in horror as he slid out a series of 8x10 photographs, and she saw her own face, upside-down, bleeding and unconscious.

Her stomach roiled. She’d known vaguely that Colin had taken pictures of the aftermath of the bombing. She had no idea how Wiseman had gotten copies, and she didn’t care. She knew why he had them, and saw immediately how Josh would react if she didn’t stop him from seeing them.

Adrenaline surged through her veins.

“Excuse me, please” she said, projecting her voice and causing the gathered media to turn to look at her. “I need to make a statement!”

Her eyes locked with Josh’s. She saw suspicion and confusion cross his face.

 _Trust me, Josh, please_ , she thought.

A few reporters looked back at Josh. He looked at her face closely. There seemed to be a glimmer of understanding, and then he shrugged, saying, “By all means. Ladies first.”

“Good afternoon,” she began.

There was a buzz from those around her - all of them had been following the back and forth between the Russell and Santos campaigns, a little soap opera that added even more spice to the wide open race.

“One year ago today, I nearly died in a car bombing in Gaza. It’s something I never talked about publicly. That isn’t the Code - we don’t make the story about us. But thanks to certain people trying to turn something innocent into a scandal to sell a couple newspapers, it appears I have to speak and try to set the record straight.

“The ultimate story of the Congressional Delegation to Gaza is going to be the tragic loss of four individuals, and that’s how it should be. But those men - and the others in the Delegation - had gone there with a purpose. We were there to reach out and find new paths to break the stalemate, to try to help bring peace. I was fortunate to meet with people on all sides before my injuries. Good people, people who wanted to be safe, people who just wanted to be able to make a living, people just trying to make their way in a terrible situation.

“Khalil Nasan and his organization murdered Admiral Fitwallace, James Holtman, and Congressmen Korb and DeSantos. He did it to try to provoke us, to have us succumb to the seductive lure of vengeance. He wanted to market our response to recruit and radicalize the next generation of terrorists in the Middle East.”

She looked out at them, seeing who was following along and who was preparing for a counterattack. She noticed Wiseman looking confused at the development, the pictures and envelope still in his hands. And there, behind everyone, Josh was looking worried, concern for her evident on his face.

“President Bartlet showed wisdom and restraint at the time. He wanted the man responsible, but he didn’t want any more innocent lives to be lost. And look at the result - Nasan arrested, tried and convicted, the camps of his organization were destroyed, and a landmark peace accord signed. I was still recovering in Germany while much of that happened, but Josh Lyman would try to call every night to keep me updated."

Donna continued. “Look, I understand why the Vice President, members of Congress and most of the American public wanted to see more immediate action. To strike back when we’ve been hurt is a very human instinct. But what I learned over seven years watching President Bartlet work is that our first instinct isn’t always best. You have to listen to everyone in the room, to the experts, and try to understand the consequences of your actions. It’s easier said than done, but isn’t that something we should demand from the next President of the United States?”

***

Up in a conference room set aside for him, the Vice President watched the briefing with growing concern. “What the hell is she doing? Lyman’s supposed to be briefing right now.”

“I thought this is what you wanted, sir,” Will explained. “You were hoping to get her to talk about her experience in Gaza.”

“As a way to show she believed in me more than Bartlet,” Russell growled. “Not preventing her old boss from self-destructing.”

***

“Over the past several days I’ve been asked a lot of questions about the events of last year. Some of them - I’m not naive - I understand that it’s the anniversary of a historical event that led to significant changes in our foreign policy, and everyone’s looking for that human interest story. But some questions have been a gross invasion of privacy, and deliberately calculated to create a false narrative of a tawdry affair gone wrong.” Donna shook her head slightly with an ironic smile. “Did you know a year ago I was actually offered money to sell my story, as the basis for a Movie of the Week? Can you imagine? I didn’t do it - I would have had to quit this job I loved to do it, and I’m glad I shot them down, because after these past few days I realize that they’d have slapped a ridiculous love story onto it.

“I did love my job at the White House. I admire President Bartlet so much - I have ever since I heard a speech of his back in Madison that inspired me to drive eleven hundred miles to join his first campaign. I'd take a bullet for him. What I found, though, is it’s a lot harder to watch as someone else takes that bullet instead.”

Her eyes found Josh’s. He shook his head, as if to tell her she didn’t have to do this.

“It’s hard to be the one who lived, especially when those lost include members of Congress or a titan like Admiral Fitzwallace. While I loved my work at the White House, I came to feel it wasn't enough - that I wasn't enough - and it was time for me to take everything I’d learned and try to make my own difference in the world, as if that would make up for… as if that would balance things somehow. And as much as I love President Bartlet, he wasn’t going to be on the ballot this time. We needed to prepare for what came after, to protect everything we’d accomplished.

“At the time, I thought that man was Vice President Russell. I certainly regarded him as the best candidate of those running at the time, and I knew his campaign manager, Will Bailey, to be a good man who was willing to take a chance on me.”

“Does that mean you no longer believe in Vice President Russell?” asked the _Post’_ s Karen Tam.

***

“You’re fired, you ungrateful bitch!” Russell shouted at the television. He turned to Will. “Get down there and fire her ass!”

“I’m pretty sure that ship will have sailed by the time I got there,” Will said.

“I don’t care. You go and let them know she doesn’t speak for us anymore. Tell them she’s clearly just trying to get back together with Lyman, and she’s lying about my campaign to do it. Tell them…”

“That’s not going to happen, sir,” Will stated, his voice firm.

“What did you say?” Russell said.

“It’s not going to happen, Mr. Vice President,” Will repeated. He shook his head. “You know, I really thought we could win this. It might’ve been closer to a coin flip than I would’ve liked, but you had the experience and money and name recognition.”

The Vice President stared down his campaign manager. “Are you quitting too?”

“No, sir,” Will said. “Not if I don’t have to. But I will, if you don’t call your reporter friend right now and stop whatever plot you’d worked up. Because I’m not going to win that way, and I promise you that you won’t win that way.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s reality, sir. We dodged a bullet that the Ellie Bartlet stuff never came out. You won’t be so lucky this time. Wiseman’s a hack, and he’ll have left breadcrumbs. How many delegates do you think we keep if Jed Bartlet stands up, points at Santos and says ‘he’s my guy’?”

***

Donna paused, reflecting on the path that had led her to this point. She turned to Karen and spoke, her voice clear, “I wanted to believe the Vice President was ready, and that in whatever ways he wasn’t we could surround him with talented people he would listen to. I convinced myself that President Bartlet was exceptional, and that we had to resign ourselves to men who couldn’t possibly live up to that standard. As these primaries have gone on, I’ve seen that I was mistaken. And while I will forever be thankful for the opportunities afforded me by Vice President Russell and Will Bailey, I find that I cannot in good conscience continue to serve in this position, and so, effective immediately, I am resigning from my position in the Russell campaign.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry. This was meant to be the end, but it was running long and the second half isn't something I'm pleased with right now. Hopefully I can hammer out a satisfying conclusion in the next couple days. Thanks in advance for everyone's patience.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victory, and new opportunities.

Donna closed her eyes for a moment. She steeled herself, then opened her eyes and looked out at the microphones and the cameras and eager, almost predatory, expressions. “Does anyone have any questions?”

“Ms. Moss!”  
“Donna!”  
“Miss Moss!”

She looked deliberately into the expression of malicious glee in the face of Alan Wiseman and called on him. “Yes?”

“Ms. Moss, isn’t this all just a cover? Isn’t the real story that you and Josh Lyman had a love affair, and after you nearly died, you broke it off and went to work with the Vice President to spite him? And now that he's said nice things about you, you’re ready to quit and crawl back to him?”

Donna was silent for a moment, and the other reporters looked surprised and a little disgusted by Wiseman’s behavior.

“You’re really bad at this, aren’t you?” Donna said. “You’ve created this little fantasy in your head, and with no evidence - or, more to the point, with entirely contradictory evidence - you’re trying to slap together a house of cards built from baseless rumors and random events and hope someone won’t blow and knock it all down. Well, guess what, I’m the big bad wolf. There was never any love affair to go wrong. Just two best friends who worked together for seven years. I didn’t leave Josh, I left a job, for one that was, at the time, better for me and my career growth. Not one person here - or anyone in the past six months - has questioned my ability but you. I may not have a formal degree, but I’ve spent nearly a decade learning from the best in the business. From Toby Ziegler and Sam Seaborn. From Leo McGarry and CJ Cregg. From Will Bailey, and yes, from Josh Lyman.”

Donna looked up and saw that Matt Santos and his team had finished their event and were now flanking Josh, watching her. “You stand there, cast these aspersions on my qualifications, while you clearly haven’t the vaguest idea how to do your own job.

“You hold those photos in your hand,” she said, causing the reporters to stare at Wiseman and his manila folder. “Pictures of me, of my trauma, hoping to blindside Josh with them and see if you could force him to another emotional response, to try and embarrass him. As if any normal human wouldn’t be disturbed seeing someone they care about like that. What did you think you’d prove by that? That Josh Lyman is a human being who actually has feelings for others? I bet the Santos campaign’s actually picked up a couple points off your last stunt.”

She saw Santos smile and nod at this, confirming her suspicions.

“The best part is that I get to be done with you. I’ve resigned, and I get to go home and sleep for a week with a clean conscience. You have to go face your boss.” She used the word to insinuate something other than the _Daily Telegraph_ , and could see by the way Wiseman flinched that he caught that. “I expect he’ll be calling soon.”

***

Up in the conference room, Will continued to face off against Russell.

“Make the call, Mr. Vice President,” WIll said. “We still have a chance to win. You’ve made it harder, costing us Donna Moss, but we still have more money and more delegates. Call off Wiseman, and then let’s get back to work.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then you can find a new campaign manager,” Will stated calmly. “This was bungled from the start, and if you’d consulted me, I could have told you that. The whole scheme just reminded those two how much they mean to each other. Of course it was never going to work.”

The two men stared at each other, Russell clearly angry, Will calm and dispassionate.

“Fine!” Russell gave in with an explosive breath. He took out the same cell phone Will had seen the previous night and pressed a button.

***

Wiseman glared at her, but with the attention on him, he didn’t dare make a move. Almost on cue, his phone started ringing, spooking him. He brought it to his ear, made a grunt of acknowledgement, then slid the envelope back in his messenger bag and stomped off.

Donna smiled brightly at him as he walked away. “Now, did anyone else have any questions?”

“I have one,” came a voice from the back.

“Yes?” Donna said, surprised to see Matt Santos addressing her.

“Do you know what you’d like to do next?” the Congressman asked.

“Aside from that well-deserved sleep,” Donna said, “not really.”

“Would you consider a job working for me? If it helps you decide, we’ve already pulled the _Telegraph’_ s credentials.”

She beamed at him. “I’d be willing to listen to offers.”

“Why don’t you join us on the bus and we can discuss that,” the Congressman said, smiling back. With that, he led his team, Josh included, to the Santos bus.

As they departed, Donna turned back to the gathered reporters. “Well, it’s been fun, but I don’t want to miss my ride. I’m not sure what’s next for me, but it may be that I’ll be speaking with some of you again soon. Try to keep some focus on the actual issues in the meantime?”

She hefted her purse and walked away, her head erect, feeling a huge weight had been lifted. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Wiseman fuming off on his own. If she took the Santos job - and maybe even if she didn’t - she might tip one of the reporters as to a possible connection between Wiseman and Russell. She made her way to the Santos bus, took a deep breath, and climbed aboard.

There was actual applause as she made her way to the top of the steps. Ronna gave her a hug, and Bram and Ned introduced themselves. The Congressman stood behind them, leaning on the seats, smiling.

“Before we start negotiations to bring you on board,” Santos said, “I think maybe you should sit down with my campaign manager. He told me, prior to today mind you, that he didn’t think you liked him very much, and I wouldn’t want to introduce unneeded friction into our little family here.”

Donna looked at him, at the twinkle in his eye and the smile on his face, and gave a little shrug. “In my experience, I've found your campaign manager sometimes gets these silly ideas in his head, and then he’s too stubborn to admit when he’s wrong.”

“Ah, I have noticed that tendency,” Santos said. “So you’ll talk to him?”

She looked past the Congressman to where Josh was sitting, looking nervous, and nodded.

“Well, Ms. Moss, it may be presumptuous of me, but I’d like to welcome you to the campaign.”

Donna smiled and shook his hand. “It may be presumptuous of me, but I’m excited for the opportunity. But first let me go negotiate with the guy running things.”

She sat down across from him. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he answered.

There were a few awkward seconds as they both searched for the right words.

“So… I guess I need to thank you for stepping in,” Josh began. “He… he had pictures? Of you, after your…”

“Yes,” Donna confirmed. “I don’t know how he got them.”

“But you knew Wiseman had them. You knew how I’d react, seeing them, seeing you like that.” Josh said, “I probably would’ve punched his teeth out.”

“Tempting as that was - he certainly deserved it - I wasn't going to let that happen. I just thought of how I would feel if it were pictures of you… at Rosslyn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Josh,” Donna confirmed.

They held the gaze for another long moment, before Josh cleared his throat. “I’ve missed you,” he said, almost in a whisper.

Possible responses flowed into her head. A sarcastic quip about him not being able to dress himself without her. A deflection, saying that they’d seen each other regularly. An angry retort reminding him that he’d pulled away first. False bravado that she was a pretty amazing person and impossible to live without.

In the end, she went with sincerity. “It turns out, this not talking thing - not _really_ talking, I mean - hasn’t been working for me either.”

Josh winced a little, then smiled. “We can talk now. Maybe have a late lunch? I think Bram may even have a salad in the cooler.”

“I’d love that,” Donna said, realizing all of the sudden that the knots in her stomach were gone and instead she found herself rather hungry.

About twenty minutes later they were pulling into the North Central West Virginia Airport.

“So, is this an interview?” Donna asked, helping herself to some of Josh’s chips.

“Who would be interviewing whom?” Josh asked. “Because last I saw, the Congressman already offered you a position, so it’s more a question if you want to join us. We can’t pay you nearly what you’re worth, we’re still trailing in delegates, and I hear the campaign manager can be a real hardass at times. But we definitely could use someone with your talents.”

“I’d be willing to settle for a little less,” Donna said, “so long as I can renegotiate after we win the nomination.”

“Going to ask for points of the ad buy?” Josh asked with a laugh. His face grew a little somber. “You’d… you’d have to work with me again, though. You didn’t seem to like that very much six months ago.”

“I don’t think I’d mind all that much, working _with_ you,” Donna said, stressing the word “with”. “As long as you think you might still find me valuable.”

Josh took her hand in his. “I will always find you valuable, Donnatella.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for coming along on this journey with me. Not quite the romantic ending you usually get from me, but they're definitely on that path and this story was really about Donna's journey. So many thanks to kcat1971, ABSea and SeaDog11 again.
> 
> wishing everyone happy holidays and a much cheerier new year.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, many thanks to kcat1971, ABSea and SeaDog11 for all their help on this.
> 
> It bothers me the way the writers drop the Gaza storyline after it accomplishes the "breakup". We don't get to see the lingering effects on Donna, we never see the press ask Josh where he was for several days during an international crisis. And no one makes the connection that the Russell spokesperson was the sole survivor of the roadside bombing? I figured I'd take a crack at what may have happened. Set between Ninety Miles Away and In God We Trust


End file.
